Timeline

TIMELINE

Chapter Two

Pansy blinked, gaped, and nothing would ever surprise her again. Harry Potter.

Potter's stance was rigid as his gaze swept over the four of them, wariness evident in every line of that still-awkward body.

His arms suddenly crossed protectively over his chest. "You won't be getting lost, then. Can I help you?"

"Yes, I think you can," grunted Vince with a chuckle from behind Pansy, and he surprisingly pushed her to the side as he slowly made his way into the compartment. "I think we need a bit of amusement."

Pansy was staring: she couldn't ever remember Vince being so forward and offensive in the usual spats he, Draco, and Greg had with Potter.

Potter gave him a passing glance, which bordered on contemptuousness, and Pansy distinctly heard Potter mutter, "You're speaking. I think that's amusement in itself."

Her fist clenched, her fingers unconsciously curling at the unwanted, always so unfair echo of all the Gryffindor barbs against Gregory and Vince.

But Draco had yet to say a word, and Greg was watching him expectantly. Pansy opened her mouth, fully intending to say something and maybe make the whole situation a bit less weird and a bit more understandable - but she soon closed it, aghast because she had gone speechless.

"Slytherin," Draco finally choked out blankly, and his fingers were very white and thin as they gripped the doorframe of the compartment and betrayed that he was quite clearly at a loss, too. "Merlin, you're in Slytherin..."

Potter's eyes abruptly flew back onto Draco's face at the comment, and if anything his attitude became even more guarded and hostile. It was almost as if he was fully ready to attack at the first sign of weakness.

It shrivelled her inside that she might actually be a bit frightened of Slytherin traits appearing in Potter.

"Why, yes, I think we established that back in the first year," said Potter, so very coolly and not like him, and Pansy thought she heard a very bad drawl.

She wasn't surprised that Draco suddenly doubled over and laughed, but it was brittle and slightly hysterical; it still made her jump and she did not appreciate it. Struggling to keep the blond upright from where he had clutched at her arm with one hand, her eyes rolled to the ceiling and she hoped she could stay calm. She needed to; obviously one of them had to, and it couldn't be Draco, and Gregory and Vincent had no idea that anything was even wrong.

This all just made so little sense.

Greg, blissfully oblivious and loyal as he had always been, gladly took Draco's hysteria as a cue for him to force his own way into the compartment next to Vincent. Potter barely registered his presence, his eyes wide and nonplussed as he took in Draco's behaviour, clearly thinking he had gone mad. Pansy's hand tightened around Draco's arm, and very secretly she couldn't blame Potter at all.

"Er...Malfoy?"

"Draco," she hissed under her breath, refusing to let a desperate note slip into her voice. She shook his sleeve a bit and wondered if he could even hear her over his laughter. "I'm going to drop you, if you don't pull yourself together."

"You're...in Slytherin!" Draco howled, now leaning his weight against the doorframe. "You! The irony..." He lost his voice to laughter.

It really wasn't funny, but maybe it was, and there was so much irony that Pansy could nearly feel it.

Her eyes swept up and down Potter, feeling the smirk curl her mouth but trying to put away the sneer. He was still stiff as a board and giving Draco the oddest look. She had to wonder what he was like now. So far, he had marvellously shown that he was as presumptuous and tetchy as he had ever been.

Little doubt that he wasn't faring well in Slytherin.

Potter glanced over his shoulder at Greg and Vince, who were gleefully helping themselves to his supply of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans, and he recoiled from them as if they had a sort of disease. Now she didn't bother to stop the sneer or the contempt; she badly wanted to laugh, since she might have known.

Disgusted by his own housemates. Potter really was terribly predictable.

His eyes met Pansy's briefly, before looking away and shaking his head, sighing.

"I'll just be going now," he said, striding past the bulk of Greg's shoulder and heading for the doorway.

Draco had relinquished his grip on her arm and moved to quickly block Potter's exit before she could even blink, his smirk haughty and hateful and mere inches from Potter's face, which momentarily looked stunned.

While Pansy was all for Potter getting his comeuppance any way he could, now more than ever really, she wanted to bodily haul Draco from the compartment and out of Potter's way. Draco very rarely had good luck with his Hogwarts Express meetings with Potter, and she didn't want to see him sprout tentacles in front of her eyes.

But his expression was more animate and vivid than she had seen it all summer, and how could she try to take that away?

The sentiment evidently wasn't mutual, judging by the looks-can-kill glare Potter was giving Draco.

"Malfoy. Move."

Pansy glared, too.

Potter had never mattered much to her. But Draco was everything, even when she didn't want him to be everything, and she loathed that command in Potter's voice, hated his audacity for thinking he was justified to order Draco around. It was a hatred that coiled something dark and furious within her stomach.

Draco's eyes narrowed with predictable hate and indignation, but there was a thrilled sort of triumph there, too, and they never moved from Potter's.

For once, Draco had the upper hand. For once, it wasn't Potter with the many lackeys willing to strike from behind to protect his virtue. Her own smirk widened.

But Draco took it a step further and actually shoved, a shove that sent Potter back against Vincent's arms and made him look quite furious. Draco didn't seem to think twice about it, but in Pansy's opinion, it hadn't been the smartest move.

They didn't know what they were up against. Slytherins were never rash, especially if they didn't know what they were up against. Draco was doing his stupid Gryffindor thing again.

"I don't think I want to move," he told Potter in mock-petulance, as Vince's beefy arm snaked around both of Potter's knobbly wrists to prevent him from flying back at Draco. "I think I want to stay right here....and find out what the hell you're doing in my House."

Potter's eyebrows rose - he probably hadn't been expecting that question. Pansy could actually relate, because Draco had to know the risks.

Still, it was a very good question; from what she had seen, Potter was unimpressive and not Slytherin material, whatever fleeting traits he may show.

"It may surprise you, Malfoy, but I could care less what you think--" Potter began icily, before the meaning of Draco's question caught up with him. He paused. "What kind of question is that?"

"A very good one, Potter," Pansy broke in, never able to stay silent long and very defensive. Suspicion was rapidly welling up in her. She didn't trust what Potter was doing, or could do, in a House he even now so obviously disliked.

Greg spoke up this time, cracking his knuckles purposefully. "So maybe our little antihero should answer," he said gruffly. "Or, if you must, try one of your 'smooth' responses again."

Vince sniggered.

"You'd like to hear that, wouldn't you?" Potter retorted, his voice growing soft and almost withdrawn as he cast Greg a darkly amused look. "Maybe 'the little antihero' feels that you're all thinking very much of yourselves and that you should have grown out of these games by now. Or that if you're in the mood to be worshipped, you should have gone to find one of the other Slytherins who kiss and fawn all over your arse all day. If it helps, I think Zabini and Davis are a little further down the corridor; you'll have to wait till we get to the school for Snape to join in, though."

Letting the barb about Professor Snape roll off her back, because she was afraid of what she might do if she thought of him, Pansy tilted her head to the side and finally released the laugh that had been dying to get out during Potter's speech.

For that split second, if she could ignore the tone of Potter's voice, he might have been Draco during one of his 'Potter tirades'.

"So it kills you, Golden Boy, that the Slytherins don't play nice with you? Aww, does it hurt that you're not the one to walk on water?" This time, she added silently to herself.

Draco looked as though Christmas had come early and his stack of presents was the size of Mount Everest. "It does, doesn't it?" he asked, his voice anticipation and breathlessness.

But this was what he had always wanted, what he had wanted so desperately and more than anything this summer. To have something significant over on Potter, just once. He was such a spoiled brat; always got everything he wanted.

But maybe not, because Potter didn't appear even the slightest bit stung, but rather malicious and nasty and Slytherin as he looked past Pansy to Draco, an eyebrow raised over the frame of those glasses.

"You would love that, wouldn't you, Draco?"

And even now Potter still had the power to turn everything back on Draco. The light flush on the previously bloodless white across Draco's face was instantaneous, and a Slytherin Potter who STILL had this sort of power over their Draco was very disturbing and wrong.

Without another word, Potter actually smirked at Draco's infuriated expression and made a second bid for escape in the direction of the door. Perhaps predictably, Greg's hand closed around Potter's wrist and he was yanked back to Vince's side.

"Take that back," Gregory grunted threateningly, slowly, his face contorted into a mask of fury identical to Vince's. Pansy could relate to that fury very much. It rose within her at seeing Potter's detachedly entertained expression and knowing she had seen it even when the other boy had been in Gryffindor.

His wand was in his hand before Pansy could even blink, and he waved it around, masked eyes fastened nowhere but on Vince and Greg. "Careful, boys - all you have to do is give me the word, you know that..."

She was almost relieved, because Potter wasn't looking anywhere else but at his immediate threat. And that wasn't Slytherin, because Slytherins never turned their back. Especially when with other Slytherins.

Why?

"Expelliarmus."

Because that's what happened, Pansy mused, closing her hand tightly around the thin rod of smooth wood that he had been about to attack Draco's best friends with (which was apparently a recurring thing). She grinned at Potter when he turned around.

Vince and Greg looked ready to hit him, and she had never seen them hit anyone before. But she wanted them to just then, because Potter deserved it, had never deserved it more. She had observed him for less than ten minutes, ten minutes in which he had systematically destroyed some of the most fundamental ideals of her House.

She pointed his own wand at him, and he still looked unfazed, but challenging; and she wanted to hurt him for being Slytherin's loose canon, which he had to be, and which Slytherin absolutely did not need.

They weren't noble, and far from moral, but Slytherin was a unit, had always been a unit in which everyone knew their place. This was just the way it was, the way it had to be, since the Slytherins all knew that at the very least, they could always count on their wanting the same fundamental thing.

It was something Pansy had known, had been so at ease and comfortable with throughout her school career, if not her whole life; yet here was Potter, clearly not knowing his place (if he even had one, the git), and she couldn't imagine the other Slytherins standing for this kind of behaviour.

She wouldn't.

"You don't point wands at Housemates," she lightly told him, her hand tightening around his wand, until she felt another cold hand wrap around her own and force her to lower the wand.

Draco might not even have been aware of the actions of his own hand; he was staring so hard and furiously at Vince and Greg. "Crabbe. Goyle." He made one erratic and imperious motion, and Potter's wrist had been released as Gregory and Vincent both stood back, mystified but obedient.

Draco turned back to her, and his eyes were hard and shining and icy, set in a face that was very tight. "Don't you always say he's not worth it?"

Pansy didn't say anything, knowing very well that it was the message that she had been trying to drill into Draco's head since the third year. But as far as she knew, he had yet to listen to it.

Draco had turned back to a rather shell-shocked Potter, his smirk stretched over his face.

"You guys eat all the sweets you want," he told Greg and Vince over his shoulder, his eyes unmoving from Potter's. His countenance was stiff, but he was almost being calm and rational in Potter's presence; Pansy could almost have been terrified.

"But when he goes down, it'll be because of me, and only me. So don't you dare do anything."

Oh.

Well, at least it was more familiar to what Draco had been ranting and venomously vowing at the end of the last Hogwarts term.

A tense silence followed the resolute statement; eventually, Potter, who might have acquired Draco's tendency to never know when to just shut up, cleared his throat. "Well, that was very sweet, Malfoy," he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "Do I at least have the privilege of knowing what brought it on?"

Draco looked infinitely amused. "No."

"Just so I know." Potter paused, and then laughed dryly, shaking his head. "I swear, you get madder every year, but...did something happen this summer?" The question was sharp and delivered quickly, probably to throw Draco off guard.

Pansy's suspicion grew, because Potter really might still be Dumbledore's Golden Boy (however hard it was to imagine Dumbledore actually allowing a Slytherin that place) and gathering information; but it was a very, very Gryffindorish tactic, which made her laugh again.

Draco was just as amused, if the way he haughtily flung back his hair and collapsed easily into the seat Potter had previously vacated was any indication. Of course, the sleek strands just fell right over his forehead and into his eyes again. He loved that.

"If there were, do you think I'd really be likely to tell you?" Draco sounded almost genuinely curious.

Potter shrugged. "Probably not," he admitted slowly, as though considering. "But I already know something did happen. And I can so very easily find out."

"What a brilliant deduction, Potter!" Draco went on mockingly; Vincent was chortling through a mouthful of Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs. Pansy blinked before quickly glancing away.

"And such an effective threat too...Dear Merlin, you really do need help, don't you?"

Potter beamed back, but his eyes remained coldly amused and searching and still so unnaturally green. He had left on the seat opposite Draco's - Draco tried to stretch his feet out to slam on top of the book, but just missed - before righting himself. "Not as much as you do, Malfoy. What happened this summer?"

Draco leaned forward on his elbows, and Pansy could tell how much he was enjoying the game, now that it was Potter who was on tenterhooks and leaving himself open while trying to pry. She discreetly hid her smile.

"Guess," Draco said, watching Potter intently with a shadow behind his eyes. He must have still been furious over his father, even if Lucius Malfoy was back to him in all his elegantly frozen glory, because it was just one more thing that Potter had taken away, and Potter never stopped taking away from Draco, bit by bit.

Even now, Potter was taking away, as his eyes narrowed disdainfully and reminded Pansy that he had always thought of him - of all of them - as beneath him.

"I don't care enough to. I'm sure that whatever it is, you only deserve it. It must be hard, to talk and talk and hurt and never really know what is going on," said Potter, curiosity shifting to scorn.

Draco's fist hit the upholstery, yet his face remained cool. He had been getting better at it over the years, but Pansy could still see the effort it took and fervently hoped Potter couldn't see it.

"What's wrong with me is the same thing that's always been wrong with me," drawled Draco. "You. Always you."

Potter's head cocked to the side. "Let no one tell you you're not self-assured, Malfoy," he muttered.

Draco actually ignored him, a gleaming and unstoppably relentless light in his eyes. "You're alone here, because you don't belong in Slytherin, and we know it. But you're on my territory, and Potter, I will make you pay."

She had never seen him so undeniably sure about anything before, and he was always sure of every little thing he threw himself headlong into.

Yet Potter could still brush it off with an indifferent raise of one shoulder. "And I say you're pathetic," he replied. "And very, very weird and nutters. More so than usual. But you won't ever get me."

Pansy saw that the searching look had yet to go out of Potter's eyes, and he was still very wary, and it only occurred to her just then that perhaps Draco was acting a bit over the top from what Potter was used to. Even Greg and Vincent were watching the exchange, wide-eyed, their hands silent on wrappers of Chocolate Frogs.

"Very sure of yourself, aren't you Potter?" she intervened, putting his wand behind her back. "Your divine Dumbledore's already thrown you to the wolves; we won't have to wait long."

"Or rather, your divine Dumbledore's already been thrown to the wolves, and you're not far behind, Boy Wonder. You're still on the losing side."

Pansy gave Draco a sharp look, very lost on what he was referring to, but he wasn't looking at her.

She watched Potter's expression instead, and he was giving Draco yet another odd look, which became dismissive once he saw her watching.

"Yes, of course." And he turned his back on Draco (still very un-Slytherin) and made for the doorway of the compartment for a third time, before halting and turning back to Pansy with a hand firmly held out. "My wand."

Pansy smirked, meeting Draco's eyes over Potter's head and badly wanting to mention something about Potter's dead father's friend and a similar request; but Potter was clearly suspicious enough, and the nosy...former-Gryffindor, she supposed, was the worst person to stir suspicion in.

She still couldn't see why he was in their House. The boy couldn't have been less of a Slytherin; what had she and Draco done, exactly?

Pushing such considerations aside, she pointed the casting tip of his wand at him, shaking her head as she tutted gently. "Five years in Slytherin and you have yet to learn any manners, Potter?" she asked him, and as he grabbed the other end of the wand, she pulled him toward her unexpectedly with a force that almost made him stumble and pleased her very much. She leaned in, her long hair making a curtain around both of their faces.

"It's your proof. You don't belong in Slytherin, and you aren't one of us. And you're drowning, aren't you?"

Potter glared at her furiously, straightened, and recoiled from her the way he had from Greg and Vincent, taking his wand from her hand. No surprises.

Reaching up, he tugged his school robes from where they were hanging above his stash of Hogwarts Express snacks with quick, erratic movements, and he pointed at the green and silver emblem in an oddly rebellious manner.

"Slytherin," he replied evenly to their silence, a strength in his voice that didn't belong there. Turning his back once more, he left the compartment; less than a second later, his head was back around the doorframe, and the bright green gaze swept over the four of them with distaste, pausing momentarily on Draco and landing finally on Pansy.

"But you did get one thing right. I'm not, and never will be one of you."

And he was gone again.

*

He had left nearly all his belongings in the compartment with them, which had to be the most un-Slytherin thing he had done this afternoon, and it delighted Draco as he ordered Vincent and Gregory to help him ransack Potter's trunk and other bags.

He was significantly less pleased, and a good deal more livid when it turned out Potter had protection spells around all of his belongings, which repelled their hands and caused them to rapidly sprout boils all over their shoulders and chests. Pansy was horrified and furious, and she might have kicked Potter if she could be bothered to find him, but she had to admit it was the it was the most impressive thing she had ever, and probably could ever expect from the new Slytherin.

Maybe he had learned a thing or two after all. Deceit was by far the best defensive technique.

On the other hand, staging underhanded attacks seemed to be as much a running theme with him as staging misguided attacks was with Draco.

It was funny that they were still the ones to "talk and talk and hurt".

After one of the most spectacular and flaming tantrums Pansy had ever witnessed from him, Draco had charged off on Potter's trail with Vince and Greg at his heels, to find Potter and demand he reversed his hex. Naturally, they had gone against all of Pansy's warnings. And of course, the thought somehow never occurred to Draco that Potter might actually do worse when they found him, instead. She wondered very often if rational thought ever came to Draco when dealing with Potter, because Potter always seemed to bring out the very worst in him.

And it was this very thing which incensed her so much, and made her storm back to the sixth year Slytherins' compartment to frighten poor Teddy and amuse Blaise while she fervently swore on her grandmother's grave that she would not be helping Draco if he came back with a missing arm, or in the form of a Blast-Ended Skewt, and that Potter was such an utter sod who wasn't worth the air he breathed, much less Slytherin air, so why was he worth Draco's time?

"We know," said Theodore in a placating way, while Blaise smirked till she wanted to throw something at him to stop him poking fun at her.

"But if it helps, you sound just like Draco," he pointed out innocently, and she firmly sat on his legs and relished the vague wince of pain.

"Does that mean you won't be joining Draco on the Potter-hunting adventures anymore?" Theodore asked.

Pansy had no idea what those could possibly be, but she told him point-blank that she absolutely would not be, because Potter wasn't worth it.

"You'll break Potter's poor, backstabbing little heart," Blaise muttered, even now not knowing when she didn't want to hear his ongoing sarcasm; but she welcomed this a bit more than his last.

"Backstabbing?" she echoed casually.

"Ah yes, our little Gryffindor saint thrown into the dark side," Blaise smirked in some hidden amusement. "But every House does have their one renegade."

"But Slytherin doesn't tolerate renegades," said Pansy.

"Of course not. Especially not vicious little spies."

It was very vaguely ironic, as Blaise could be the most vicious of them all, but she had the knowledge she wanted, and crossed her legs over Blaise's in a satisfied manner. The others clearly held the same opinion of Potter they had even before Draco had used his father's spell; and Potter, unsurprisingly, was still on the losing side.

He'd always be a loser, a deluded and sanctimonious prat who couldn't face what he might be. Pansy smirked as she remembered the way Potter had recoiled from all of them in his compartment. Thrown to the wolves indeed.

"So why aren't you out there teaching him a lesson?" Blaise demanded suddenly. Pansy nearly stuck her tongue out at him and disgraced herself forever.

"Why aren't you?"

"Because you all do it so well that I don't have to," Blaise said, as though he were reminding her of something she didn't remember. Which, again, was entirely likely.

"Well, why the hell do you care, anyway?" she flung back hotly and very peevishly. "Who cares what Potter does? Did I miss the part when he suddenly became worth it? Why didn't Draco?"

Teddy blinked and was very taken aback; but after his parents and Draco, her word had always been gospel truth to him and he nodded slowly. "You do speak truth...Draco's never spent this much time on Potter on a train ride before, for one thing. And he's really not worth it, he's just a blood traitor." He released a huff of breath, almost as though put out. "But the Potter games are fun."

Pansy didn't know what those were, either.

Blaise raised an eyebrow in Theodore's direction. "Teddy, he can't be a blood traitor if he's halfblood, first off," he said, before turning back to her and opening his mouth, before his eyes travelled down to where her legs were entangled with his due to their position.

"You know, Draco always says it, but he's always right anyway: you are no lady," he said, smiling infuriatingly.

Pansy glared witheringly at him. "You say that so much it's lost all meaning," she replied, but still wanted to throw the nearest thing she could find at him. It was Illusion, Millicent's cat, and Pansy couldn't do that to Millicent, however feral a cat Illusion could be.

Theodore and Blaise went back to reading a magazine Pansy was sure had been in Tracey's hand when she had last seen her, the Hogsmeade Highlights. But they promptly ignored her, and she absolutely didn't care as she stroked Illusion and wondered how many times Draco could keep hurling himself at the brick wall which concealed Potter's circle of acknowledgement.

Sally-Ann came wandering in a while later, and she wasn't with the other girls, which wasn't unheard of, but very strange for a trip on the Express. She gave Pansy a hug as it was expected, didn't bat an eye at her position on Blaise's legs, and when she curled up in the corner of the compartment, Pansy balked at the unacceptable vulnerability in the motion. Sally-Ann gave her an old article to read, which was almost certainly more thrilling than the one Blaise and Teddy were reading.

Chaotic Aftermath of Dark Lord's Muggle Attack: continued:

Anita Roland

The Ministry remains undecided on the matter of what to do with the survivors of yesterday's Muggle attack on Bristol, in which ninety percent of the area's Muggle population collapsed at the hands of the Dark Lord and his evasive army. The Aurors have been instructed not to reveal any news whatsoever on the state of Bristol today, and the region has been closed off from any person not a citizen of the county. It is an easily condemnable decision on the part of the Ministry of Magic, as the restriction also holds firm for relatives of victims lost in the attack, both Muggle and wizard alike. However, the Dark Lord's insignia is still visible from the skies, and we can only wonder whether the Department of Magical Catastrophes is actually doing their job. It has been confirmed that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards) is meeting this morning with several Ministry officials as well as elite members of the Wizengamot, to discuss and pinpoint the reasons for which Bristol's Muggle community was targeted. The popular rumour claiming that the attack was a response to Dumbledore's policies regarding Hogwarts, has yet to be confirmed or denied.

That Dumbledore might be in trouble was the first and major thing that she registered, and that it might be for the dangerous and radical views which he was inflicting on the wizarding world almost made her jump up and sing. Because of course, Dumbledore's Muggle-loving ways had to be stopped; they were putting the entire wizarding population in danger of being discovered by Muggles, who would torture and burn them and do it all out of fear. The Dark Lord knew that it had to be stopped. How many times had her father told this to the rest of the family? How many times had her brother-in-law, Armand, told her? At seven, she could have certainly recited her father's entire speeches a lot easier than she could have her Latin.

But she paused, reread the article, and hid her face as she involuntarily mouthed, "Ninety percent?"

She registered that she had never really seen an article such as this before; nor had she even remotely heard of an actual attack.

She suddenly wanted Draco there, because she knew he at least heard of attacks, and he would know what to do.

But no, Draco was off chasing a Potter who wouldn't give him the time of day any more than the last one had, and her irritation and the stabbing jealousy in her throat grew.

Sally-Ann had crossed her legs on the seat and was staring impassively out the window at the passing tree foliage, as still and quiet as a marble statue. Pansy wondered if articles like these were common in this changed world, and common to her friends, but Sally-Ann wasn't exactly acting as though it were.

"Right, you know you're heavy." Blaise's legs suddenly wiggled under her, and he kicked her off none-too-gently. Leaning forth, he snatched the clipping out of her hand. "If you're going to make an armchair of me, do I at least get to know what you're reading?"

"I thought you were already involved in some very gripping reading," she told him, eyeing the magazine left forgotten in Teddy's hand.

Blaise's eyes scanned over the article, and an eyebrow rose but nothing was revealed. "Ah."

Teddy's eyes travelled from the clipping to Sally-Ann. "So you did get the news?" he asked, rather eagerly, Pansy thought. "I tried to owl you about it as soon as I was told, only my owl just came back."

"Oh yes, I heard," said Sally-Ann in curiously even tones, eyeing the clipping.

Pansy glared rather indignantly at Teddy. "And why didn't you owl me?" she demanded, straightening a bit so she could kick him properly.

Theodore dodged and looked just as indignant. "But you already knew! Father told you."

Pansy paused, and then accepted that she might have done well to actually listen to conversation at that supper party of Rose's.

"Father says it's one of the best things that could happen, and the Dark Lord was brilliant for planning it that way," Teddy went on, his face keen and suddenly, strangely young. "He told me that it was--"

"--a stand against Dumbledore's views, which get more barbaric and ridiculous every day?" came the drawl from behind her, and Pansy turned to see Draco, in all his haughty glory, squeeze in beside her as he slapped Blaise's hand and threw his legs over the other boy's in a familiar manner. Brats, the both of them, and boys other than her nephew were sometimes not worth her time.

"Exactly." Teddy was watching Draco with a grin and evident admiration, and Pansy reconsidered. She snorted as well; Theodore could pick better role models.

Draco carefully arranged his hair before carelessly dropping his head back on her shoulder. His weight was light and his hair tickled her neck. He could probably have cared less; she watched the perfectly scornful sneer play across his pointed features as he looked at the article that was now in Teddy's hand.

"Do you know," he began, very disdainfully, and an almost reluctant giggle came from Sally-Ann's corner, "that both the Ministry and the so-very-esteemed-and-brilliant Dumbledore have yet to make the connection that the largest percent of Hogwarts' Mudbloods come from Bristol?" He shook his head as if awed by the idiocy. "And these are the bumbling fools running our society. Merlin. Father was so right." He smacked his hand over his eyes, and Pansy laughed lightly, too.

He raised his head slightly to look at all of them, particularly at Sally-Ann, for some inexplicable reason, which made Pansy's heart prickle. "It's very simple. Just keep the Muggles away from our world; that's all the Dark Lord is trying to do and if everyone would just agree, then everything would be much safer and easier, and these attacks wouldn't have to happen." The words and the fire were Draco's; the fuel was Lucius Malfoy, and it had always been that way.

"But they are for now, because it's what we have to do," Teddy agreed wholeheartedly.

Sally-Ann, always the one most willing to challenge and debate Draco's views in politics (even though Pansy knew she held many of the same views, and so much more fervently), scrunched up her mouth and didn't reply for a moment, seemingly undecided.

Pansy was irate, and glowered at Draco, because he hadn't told her any of this stuff and she didn't know exactly what was going on. As always, he ignored her glare - he never seemed to be aware of her the many times she would glower at him.

"Dumbledore is finally experiencing that long-deserved fall from grace," he added nonchalantly, and won Sally-Ann over from something Pansy was clueless about.

"I know there are some perks to it," she agreed, and Theodore nodded in full support.

Sally-Ann's lips thinned and she tossed back her very dark hair; a near-futile motion since she had cut it last year and it now fanned out just below her chin. It still looked very good and sweet, and Pansy would never admit to being just the slightest bit jealous of her.

Pansy also saw a visible resolve to put away whatever it was that was plaguing her until she could get off on her own, moments before the other girl had flung a Cauldron Cake at Blaise's head, who jumped and cried out in indignation.

"You asked me for a snack," said Sally-Ann innocently, who had always been one for unprovoked attacks.

"Well, I wouldn't have minded eating that if you'd told me you had it," Draco mentioned petulantly, barely moving from his previous position as Blaise wiped flakes and bits of spongy cake and icing away from his eyes.

Sally-Ann eyed him, and then Blaise. "You still can," she said, waving a hand at the mess over Blaise's head.

"Later."

In some sort of sympathy, Sally-Ann launched another Cauldron Cake far more considerately so that it would land in Draco's lap.

Blaise glared. "Will you at least tell me what that was for?"

"You asked me for a snack earlier," Sally-Ann replied pointedly, looking back out the window.

Pansy made a mental note to drag this story out of Sally-Ann eventually.

"Oooh," Blaise uttered, and then shrugged. "I already apologized for that, though."

"You didn't."

Blaise didn't apologize, but instead pulled a chunk of the broken pasty out of his dark hair, looked at it, and handed it to Pansy.

She regarded him very condescendingly before slapping it away and taking one that had slipped down his very tanned cheek almost to his chest instead.

Teddy watched, before turning to grin across the tiny aisle of the compartment at Sally-Ann. "Right. How was your summer?"

Tracey came in and was properly horrified with the state that the compartment and her friends were in. She was quick to let them know that none of them was being elegant and their parents would all be furious. She did that just before she bent to lick a trail of iced pastry off of Blaise's cheek and told him to go wash up in the bathroom.

Daphne bounded in seconds after Blaise had vanished and hugged everyone, giggled, purposely been a nuisance and adored it, and was all-around very, very unladylike.

But Theodore and Draco let her drape herself all over them anyway, read the clipping, and Draco told her everything he had told Sally-Ann. She believed him far more readily than Sally-Ann had.

Sally-Ann had grabbed the clipping back once Draco was finished reassuring Daphne and the rest of them once more that their side was very close to winning and the Muggles and Mudbloods and blood traitors would all get what they deserved. Now she was skimming it over once more, her fingers making further creases in the already very wrinkled newsprint.

She bit her lip. Sally-Ann very rarely bit her lip.

"I think I should ask Professor Snape about this," she said, decisively and with the familiar confidence that Snape would know just what to do about her problem because he was a Slytherin and brilliant.

Draco's face had gone icy within the span of a heartbeat, and the look he gave Sally-Ann was very derogatory indeed. "And what do you expect him to accomplish?" he asked, his voice almost casual, but not quite.

Sally-Ann flushed a bit, but looked defiant. "I know he's always saying that we have to sort things out for ourselves, but he'll understand about this and I don't think you lot do."

Draco sneered. "Maybe you should try to make us understand right now, then; because Snape certainly isn't going to be helping you and you're going to make an idiot out of yourself trusting him."

Tracey's and Daphne's eyes were very round; Teddy appeared speechless, but was hanging onto Draco's every word; and Pansy, who of course knew what had brought this on, said nothing and ignored the rising and bitter bile in her throat. However, she pushed her shoulder against Draco's back, protectively, supportively.

"What are you going on about, Draco?" Sally-Ann demanded, confused. "Professor Snape's always been the only one to help, who else would?"

Draco eyed her momentarily before shrugging with more feigned casualness. "Well, I'd say just realize that I know we can't trust Snape, but whatever's your fancy." He left it at that and knew Sally-Ann wouldn't ask Snape about anything for a little while, because they all had always counted on Draco almost as much as Snape himself.

Silence reigned supreme for a short while before Daphne turned to look around and tried to ignore the hush. "Where are Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Down by the lunch trolley," said Tracey instead of Draco, surprisingly; at Teddy's raised eyebrow, she explained that she had passed by them on her way here, and they were being horrendous and very messy, and could Draco please go do something about them?

Draco sneered again and still managed to make it beatific. "Yes, I think I'll be joining them," he said, pushing off of Pansy and jumping to his feet in a nearly graceful way.

Tracey scowled, but turned to the window to hide any possible coming smile, and Draco was gone in a flurry of black robes and icy-blond hair.

Theodore stayed for a while, but Illusion soon began prowling around his legs. He had never gotten along very well with Illusion, so he went off to find Blaise. The girls crowded around Pansy, and Tracey showed her the abandoned Hogsmeade Highlights, insisting that she read an article all about a brand new division that was being added to the western side of the village.

It included bars and a pathetic waterfront district around the body of water the villagers called a lake and Pansy called a puddle, but it also had new robe shops and ice cream stores, so she thought she might enjoy going with the other Slytherins to explore on the first Hogsmeade weekend. She loathed hanging around the joke shop and Honeyduke districts, which were always crawling with Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors; she knew many of the other Slytherins shared this sentiment, too.

Millicent came in briefly to retrieve Illusion, a roll of parchment and a colour-changing quill-and-ink set, as well as her guitar, which was in the overhead cubicle furthest from the door. Daphne helped her to get it down, before Millicent changed her mind and decided she wanted to keep it up there until they had gotten to Hogwarts. So of course, Daphne helped her put it back, too.

"Will you let us listen to you play it tonight?" Daphne asked appealingly.

Millicent scowled and appeared to consider. "Maybe."

"Are you going to put your school robes on before we get to Hogwarts?" Tracey asked, looking at Millicent's everyday robes in dismay.

Millicent smiled and tipped her head to the side. "No." And then she was gone too, Illusion's tail swishing back and forth over her arms and Pansy smirking after her. Millie had never been one for conformity, even Slytherin conformity.

The larger girl had barely been out of sight for a moment before Pansy heard her growl. "Granger."

"Millicent Bulstrode. Pleasure," came the snotty voice. Pansy put the magazine aside and got up to poke her head out of the compartment door, her girls at her back.

Millicent was glaring and was apparently in a very disgustedly contemptuous mood. Granger was watching her in aloof superiority, fingering her prefect badge in what was probably a nervous manner nonetheless. Her eyes shifted immediately to Pansy.

"The prefects have to start gathering the first years together, to get them off the train and over to Hagrid," Granger informed her, in clipped and condescending tones, the know-it-all she was. "In case you've forgotten."

Pansy smirked smugly at the other girls and pushed Granger over on her way to the front of the train, hearing the girl call her names that made her laugh, and made the others laugh, too.

The train came to a full stop. Students began flooding the corridors and remaining stationary. She had less time for this sort of idiocy than she had had that morning, and began snapping at and threatening students who were in her way. Granger's appalled expression was priceless.

Pansy loathed this part about being a prefect, especially when faced with terrified and pathetically crying first years who certainly wouldn't be put in Slytherin; but finding Draco in the crowd and pulling a face at the bright-red-faced and furious Weasel King (who had doubtlessly heard about Granger's cruel treatment at the hands of the diabolical Slytherins), she dutifully lead the group assigned to her by the Head Boy off of the train and over to the cluster of trees where the massive gamekeeper was needlessly waving. It wasn't as though they couldn't see him, being almost taller than the trees themselves. Pansy noted that he didn't look as ghastly as he had been last year. At least he wouldn't give the braver first years nightmares.

She didn't see Potter anywhere.

But it was when she saw Draco's faint but involuntary wince of pain as he accepted one of his many carry-on bags from Greg that she concluded they had either not found Potter, or they had found him and he had simply refused to undo his hex. She really didn't care which was correct.

Upon descending from the carriages, which had taken them to the front doors of Hogwarts, she dragged all three very disgruntled boys to the hospital wing, ignoring Draco's death threats and the scattered sniggering of other students.

She had never liked Madam Pomfrey very much, because she was very fussy and scolded far too often, but she had let Pansy stay the entire afternoon in third year after Draco's arm had been slashed and Pansy had shamelessly begged to see him. Draco had yet to forgive her or to stop teasing her for that incident, but it had made Pansy trust Pomfrey.

The woman's disapproving frown was already firmly in place when Pansy sat the boys down on different beds, and tore open Draco's robes and shirt first to reveal his boils, which had gone purple.

"Pansy, in public, really," Draco muttered under his breath, because he just never knew when to stop.

"Do shut up, Draco, and be a grown-up little boy like Greg and Vince," she retorted with a wink to Vincent as she did the same to him, and then to Greg.

"If you don't mind," Madam Pomfrey clucked, moving to Draco's side and positioning him so that she could see the boils more clearly. She sighed in very obvious exasperation. "Again?"

Draco flushed and seethed.

"You and Potter, that's all you seem to do; how hard it is to simply stay away from each other, if you insist on being so hostile?" She went on in this manner as her wand glowed a bright blue, and she ran its tip over the boils, which immediately began shrinking and losing the purple colour.

"Of course, one would think housemates would be able to get along better. Or at least that they would have matured past third year behaviour."

She arranged her matronly robes and pursed her lips as she muttered "Pre-initiated Furnunculus Hex" under her breath.

"I was not the one who started it, all I did was ask--" Draco began indignantly, before pausing, suddenly far more curious and interested. "What happened in third year?"

"Mr. Malfoy, please!" snapped Pomfrey, sweeping the tip of her wand around Draco's shoulder once more; it was smooth and white again. She made her way briskly over to Greg, shaking her head. "Do not tell me you've forgotten, the two of you were in here at least once a week each, involving me in your childish games...and then there was Potter, who already had enough to deal with, what with his fainting spells." She finished up with Greg and moved to where Vince was seated, not far from Pansy.

Pansy hid a snicker at the sheer delight in Draco's expression, and because of it decided to hold her groans at what was sure to be coming until later.

"The Dementors?" Draco asked eagerly.

Madam Pomfrey sniffed and her eyes flashed at the mere mention of the creatures; and even when trying to hide her hilarity at Draco's gleeful grin, Pansy remembered nightmares and screams which she'd always had to hold in, and could well understand Pomfrey's response.

"I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking," Pomfrey muttered angrily, running her wand over Vincent's skin; his boils were the only ones that hadn't yet gone purple. "Creatures like those in a learning institution; they never even accomplished their purpose, Bellatrix Lestrange is still wandering free..." She broke off and took a deep breath, patting Vince on his now-smooth shoulder.

Pansy froze, and then turned to look at Madam Pomfrey probingly.

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" The name was vaguely familiar. "Wasn't it..." but Draco caught her eye and she trailed off, unsure of whether it was safe to name Sirius Black as the prisoner of Azkaban.

Draco jumped off of the bed.

"Not yet, Malfoy," said Madam Pomfrey hurriedly, pulling a tube of cream out of her pocket. It took a few moments for her to quickly apply it across the boys' shoulders before handing them all three identical tubes.

"You'll need to apply it once more before you go to bed, and - providing you don't fight yet again before the night is over - you'll apply it tomorrow morning," she told them bossily before ushering them out the door.

Pansy was still mulling over the switch between Lestrange and Black, and wondering what it could all possibly mean, but Draco's mind was one-track and his smile at Greg and Vince dazzling as he led them all in quick strides to the Great Hall. "Boys, I think it's time for a bit of fun."

They had missed the Sorting, but had walked in during Dumbledore's speech, which was far less worthwhile, in Pansy's opinion. She stared, and watched Draco pull his gargoyle-like faces as they made their way to the Slytherin table. Dumbledore smiled benignly and, Pansy thought, rather deceivingly as he made announcements and warnings.

Pansy noticed that Potter was sitting alone, his distance speaking volumes for the regard he held his fellow Housemates in, and her lip curled in incredible disdain again before she noticed that Potter's gaze was fastened on the High Table, but not on Dumbledore.

She followed the stare to see Professor Lupin giving him a quick nod and the kind smile she remembered from the third year, and she couldn't believe it. How could he be here? Professor Snape had told them all that he was a werewolf, even if he had been the only Defence teacher worth having, and what official would have allowed him to keep working?

Or did anyone even know his secret yet?

Tracey moved out of the two seats she had been saving as Dumbledore's speech ended, and Pansy slid into her place with Greg on her one side. Draco was supposed to be on the other side, but he hadn't even bothered to sit down, instead pausing to meet Potter's eyes, his face flushed and alive and triumphant, before immediately beginning his swooning renditions of Potter's third year self.

The laughter was predictable, instantaneous and raucous, and Pansy might have laughed too, only she had had eight months of this same re-enactment, had been taught to do it flawlessly herself after the first five, and was finding herself really wondering how differently such a display of weakness would be preyed on now that Potter was actually in Slytherin.

He deserved no sympathy, had never deserved any. Because if someone was going to show such blatant weakness, then they willingly left themselves open to this kind of treatment, and Slytherins preyed on weakness the way animals preyed on each other in the wild. Potter was all the more a fool for allowing it to show when being in Slytherin.

Maybe he knew it; he was watching Draco absently in vague bewilderment but zero surprise. There was a good reason why Pansy had kept her own Dementor nightmares a very tight secret.

And Draco, Pansy mused as she took a bite of her pot pie in a hopefully refined way, was all about preying on Potter's weaknesses.

The thought neither pleased her nor comforted her. Potter was rather good at doing the same to Draco.

Draco swooned a second time, and again a third time, finally making both him and Teddy tumble to the ground inelegantly, but the others were still shouting with laughter; Daphne and Adrian Pucey were praising Draco's "talent" while Millicent and Queenie Hills were chortling merrily, and even Tracey had covered her mouth with both hands to keep anything from dribbling out, which would have disgraced her unbearably.

Yes, Draco was good, so Pansy allowed her own, albeit grudging snicker, before catching sight of Potter standing up from the table.

Oh, don't leave in a huff, she thought with a smile, and then she noticed his fleeting looks at the rest of the Slytherins and the High Table, a frown crossing his features.

He left the table, halting briefly to cast a shockingly repulsed and disdainful glance at the Gryffindor table, where Finnigan and Thomas were trying to see who could stuff the most food into their mouths at one time, to the loud approval of both Weasleys still in Gryffindor and much of the rest of the table. Weasley glanced up once and returned Potter's blatant disgust with a poisonous sneer of his own, before turning back to his friends. Potter left the Hall unnoticed, for the most part.

But not unnoticed by Draco, no, never. He balanced precariously on the bench next to Pansy and ignored her when she gave him a look very much like the one his mother might have given him if she could see him.

"Where's he going?" he muttered under his breath, and Pansy shrugged, unsure whether he was talking to her or to himself, which he also did quite often.

But Sally-Ann had caught what he said, too, and turning to see what he was referring to, spotted Potter's empty chair. She shrugged uncaringly, and Pansy could have hugged her so tightly. "Why do you care?"

"I don't," Draco told her caustically, before affecting injury. "He just walked out in the middle of my brilliant acting, that's all. How rude can you get?" Pansy wondered if he really was affecting injury, after all.

Daphne laughed. "Very true, but when has Potter ever had manners?" she asked.

Draco beamed vividly and was suddenly out of his seat. "You're absolutely right," he claimed, latching onto Pansy's sleeve and trying to pull her out of her seat. "So we're going to have to teach him, aren't we? No, Vince, Gregory, you stay here." The command was abruptly given and now everyone stared, because Greg and Vince went everywhere with Draco.

That knowledge alone was enough to allow Draco to pull Pansy to her feet, but didn't stop her from scowling and tapping her foot. "And why are we going? Why is Potter worth it?"

Draco's eyes were narrowed and met hers, glittering and vibrantly malicious. "Because it's been a long time in coming," he told her stubbornly, and she couldn't look away, so she sighed in defeat.

Sally-Ann was frowning in more than a little confusion. "Draco, you know Professor Snape always tells us to leave him alone whenever we can," she said, almost regretfully.

Draco's eyes flashed and narrowed further, while Pansy cringed at the reminder. "Yeah, I'll just bet Professor Snape says that," he bit out, and Sally-Ann knew to back off in the face of his cutting temper, which at least showed that Draco hadn't changed a bit in this time.

All the same, Sally-Ann still stiffened in surprise at such venom.

Draco never noticed. "Oh, look who's missing from the High Table," he muttered to Pansy, grabbing her wrist once again and fingering his wand with the other hand. Theodore was watching Draco, almost unnerved. Blaise's dark eyes, however, were on hers, slightly amused and expectant.

"He has obsession issues," she told him and the rest in an apologetic whisper, before Draco dragged her away.

*

Draco's wand was out of his hand the moment they stepped out of the Great Hall, and it was down her bra as soon as he tried to snatch it back. He cocked his head faintly to the side for a moment, before simply leering and raising his eyebrows.

"Very subtle, Pansy," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement, which Pansy felt was awful of him. "It's more conventional to just ask."

She held back from sticking out her tongue in a manner that would condemn her to childhood forever in his eyes. "You hate conventional," she pointed out, snarling instead. "And you're always saying I'm not a lady."

He grinned teasingly and was halfway down the hallway before anything more could be said. Pansy trailed after him.

They kept six paces behind Potter as he made his way up to the third floor directly above the Entrance Hall, and they were sure to watch for the trick step halfway up the second, narrow flight of stairs. Potter finally paused and leaned against one of the large, night-darkened windows lining the corridor, a silhouette in shadow obviously waiting for someone. Pansy quickly pulled Draco behind the suit of armour at the top of the stairs, feeling it creak and twitch.

There was a soft click around the bend of the corridor. Pansy could not see where it had come from.

A sidelong glance revealed Draco's mouth curved into a calculating smirk, so close to her, but targeted only on and only for Potter.

"Move and I'll scratch off your legs," she hissed, knowing instinctively that he was fully prepared to saunter over to Potter and proceed to shoot his mouth off and be so fabulously Draco. On the one hand, he had her full support, but she had to admit she wanted to see whom Potter was meeting.

Draco gave her a deeply petulant look. "Bitch."

"I know. Draco, creativity."

Before Draco could say anything more, the shadows next to and around Potter seemed to shift, and then Professor Snape was suddenly there, as though he had simply melted out of said shadows.

Pansy couldn't breathe. She didn't want to think about betrayal, and she didn't dare to look at Draco, either.

The expected jump from Potter never came, but the boy looked very unsettled regardless. Even Pansy, crouched as far away from them as she was, could distinctly hear the mutter of "greasy vampire", and held her breath, waiting for the swift and harsh rebuttal and punishment which was sure to come.

"Let's see, I think that warrants a detention tomorrow evening in the Potions classroom, Potter," said the familiar voice in silky tones. Pansy felt her sleeve tighten considerably around her wrist, nearly cutting off her circulation. More than ever, she didn't dare to look at Draco.

In the dim light, Potter's glare could be seen easily. "I apologize, sir," he replied in some mocking parody of courtesy. "Is there something you wanted to see me about?"

There was a sneer, and that too was so familiar and once almost comforting. "No. There could never be anything I would want to see you about. However, I was asked by the Headmaster to inform you that he, on the other hand, wishes to see you in his office after supper tomorrow."

A muscle in Potter's throat twitched faintly. "Already?" he mumbled, glancing down the corridor. "Another session? I've been here for about an hour--"

Professor Snape's very dark eyes glimmered before narrowing in disgust. "Potter, I did not come to be subjected to your obtuseness, either. Cease with your childish whining."

Potter's lips tightened and it should have been anger, but Pansy thought he might be attempting to hide a smirk. "But if he wants to see me, that means you'd have to see me, too."

The professor's black hair slipped forth like an oily curtain, and she could no longer see his expression.

"Be assured it is not by choice. I can hardly help it if...powers above me require my involvement." Professor Snape's voice was getting silkier and thankfully menacing; at least she knew this meant he was becoming steadily more furious.

As he should be. Potter was being disrespectful. Professor Snape never allowed Potter to be disrespectful; he was about the only professor in the entire school who didn't, and she had always been in awe of him for it. She could have loved him for it.

Potter's head tilted slightly to the side. "If I have to see Dumbledore tomorrow night, doesn't that mean I won't be able to serve detention?" he asked.

"You have earned yourself another hour of detention," Professor Snape informed him smoothly. "We shall work something out."

"It's good to see you're not wasting time postponing your vindictiveness."

"Yet another hour, Potter. As for how we'll manage, I have the perfect solution." Professor Snape gripped Potter on the shoulder; the grip looked as though it should hurt, but Potter showed zero signs of pain, and he definitely seemed as though he could be hiding a smile. Pansy wished she could throw something at Potter's head.

Professor Snape cast a glance around the hallway, but didn't sense her presence or Draco's, and he didn't take a second look.

"We'll be visiting Dumbledore right now," he said, and he swept Potter up the corridor and around the bend, his black robes swirling and billowing in his wake along with Potter.

They were gone.

They had almost sounded normal, really...but Potter had been insolent - Pansy couldn't remember him ever being so impertinent off the top of her head - and while Snape should have inflicted far more than a mere detention, he had instead let it slide. Snape had talked to him about secret meetings with Dumbledore, and had mentioned willingly spending time in Potter's company, and this couldn't be more wrong.

He didn't do that with anyone except the other Slytherins, most often Draco.

Something was tickling the back of her own throat, and it was bitter again. She was sure she didn't like it, because it had to be a weakness; it was starting to irritate her behind the eyes, and she had promised long ago that she would never let that happen again.

Whatever Professor Snape had done, however he had betrayed Draco (and therefore the rest of Slytherin) before, his hatred for Potter couldn't change. It couldn't. It wasn't fair if it could.

She slid her sleeve out of Draco's grip and her hand into his, and finally she dared to look at him. She felt something break inside at the clenched jaw and almost desolate expression, and it wasn't heat radiating from him this time, but a glacial fury and an unpleasant pain that she could feel, going straight from him into her and back again. It would probably soon spread to the rest of Slytherin, too.

Slytherin really was on its own. The way it had always been, the way it would always be. The way it should be, she silently and stubbornly maintained.

"I'm never, ever trusting another adult again," Pansy whispered, and it was a childish statement, which she was well aware of, but she was hoping to draw Draco into some kind of response and stop the horrendous stiffness and lack of expression or emotion. Maybe scorn would do that.

It worked, a bit; he snorted. "Yes, until your mum and my mum get you another birthday cake and Rose buys you another set of pink dress robes," he said absently.

Pansy smiled faintly. "You did like them?" she asked, the tiniest note of sarcasm in her voice. "Okay you're right...as long as they don't have the frills again. But I'll never trust one at Hogwarts, anyway."

"Yes." Draco cut off there, and Pansy nearly bit through her lip in anxiety and uncertainty of how to do this. Because he wasn't broken this time, yet, but he might be soon, and she would have killed Potter if it would stop Draco from breaking.

"Draco?"

He stood up abruptly. "Let's go back to the common rooms," he said decisively, helping her up with the hand still joined to hers. "Can I choose the password this time?"

She ignored his words and peered into his face closely. He was breathing hard and it didn't comfort her in the least. "Draco, do you want to...um..." She was reminded of the fact that she was hardly the best confidante; neither of them was, really.

And, unsurprisingly, Draco gave her a look that oozed scorn through clouded eyes. "Talk? About what? About how Snape's joined the masses of Potter cheerleaders? Not particularly." He scowled derisively and his face was very pale and cold as stone. "I'm not falling to pieces, Pansy. But I want to choose the password." He was unwavering.

"All right, fine," she sighed in exasperation. Brat. "Choose whatever damn password you will."

He brightened. "'Potter stinks'."

Pansy felt the barely repressible urge to throw herself out one of the windows. "I'm choosing the password," she said quickly.

Draco glared again. "You chose it last September."

"'Serpentine Honour' was actually dignified!"

"So were my badges." He set his mouth stubbornly. "I want 'Potter stinks'."

She eyed him and he refused to let the façade crack, she knew, and was helpless in the face of it. Pansy finally smirked and ignored the pangs of uncertainty. "Fine, have it your way." It was all she ever seemed to say to him.

*

But then, Potter is a Slytherin here, and Professor Snape's always backed us Slytherins.

The very logical thought came to her later that night in her room, as she brushed out her hair in the one hundred strokes that Rose had always told her were required "if you want to keep your hair as something remotely resembling presentable", and struggled to put on her pale pink nightgown at the same time.

Yet, Potter being a self-hating Slytherin somehow made it even worse than if Professor Snape had been helping the blatantly Gryffindor Potter. The whole situation sickened her, and she couldn't think about it anymore.

Instead, she half-listened to Tracey and Daphne tell her how very unfair it was that Dumbledore had declared the new Hogsmeade division to be out of bounds and that Pansy as a prefect had to get them there to visit somehow. She was really listening to the strains of guitar music from behind Millicent's bed hangings where she knew Sally-Ann was seated too, but she didn't know why.

Daphne suggested that they act as the Gryffindors always did, and as everyone always expected the Slytherins to, and just break the rules to go into Hogsmeade alone. Millicent flatly refused to lower herself to the level of a Gryffindor, and the matter remained unresolved when she turned to bark at Sally-Ann for acting so pensive and warn her to get away if she were about to start bawling. But Sally-Ann remained curled up at her side and told them all through gritted teeth that nothing could ever make her cry. Pansy thought about tearstained blotches on an owled letter to her concerning Draco, but said nothing.

"Indeed," said Tracey in her lilting voice as she assessed Sally-Ann. "You've been moping all day and haven't said a word, and I utterly refuse to sleep in the room with you until you explain what's bothering you, and therefore you shall be blamed for any scandalous behaviour of mine that might happen."

"It'll be the first convenient excuse you've ever had," muttered Sally-Ann, but paused, and began hesitantly, "Cameron was involved in the attack on Bristol...I might have told Daphne about it. He was injured. Badly. Very badly." Her eyes never moved from the bedspread.

There was a brief silence, which Daphne finally broke, looking very perplexed. "How? I mean, they were attacking Muggles...Muggles don't really do anything, do they?"

"That's what I would like to know," hissed Sally-Ann with sudden venom. "'How?' This is supposed to be the winning side, and Cameron pledged allegiance to our Lord...so why would this happen?"

Why indeed, Pansy thought frantically, and didn't know what to say.

"Everyone keeps talking about how great this battle was for our side, it's all Dad talks about. How wonderful it is that Dumbledore is about to be brought to his knees, that the Dark Lord is standing up for the rights of the purebloods and the old ways; no one seems to care that a nineteen year old still had his whole life to live, but will probably never walk or talk or see again--"

"Sally-Ann, the attack was all of those things," said Tracey in a softly harsh voice, because she was just as unwavering in her beliefs as everyone else was. "If you haven't noticed, this is war. War comes with sacrifices. You're not that dim."

"That's beautiful," snapped Sally-Ann. "And how many more sacrifices would have to be made--"

"Right, both of you shut up right now!" Pansy finally said over both voices, needing desperately to scream and say something, because the girls had never even talked about things like this before, much less fought over them. And Cameron Perks had given her her second kiss ever.

Millicent had gone utterly silent while Daphne looked at Sally-Ann and Tracey alternatively, shell-shocked.

"You can't be starting to doubt the Dark Lord?" asked Tracey almost incredulously. "You can't. Because we have to believe in him." And just the way she said it made it very clear that it was about survival again.

Sally-Ann didn't say a word. Pansy ran her hands through her dark hair and turned back to the girl still staring at Millicent's bedspread almost mutinously.

"Right, okay, did Cameron say anything about how he was injured?" she wanted to know, before biting her tongue and decidedly hating the smallness of her voice.

"It would be a bit hard for him, wouldn't it, seeing as he can't talk," Sally-Ann said acidly. Sarcasm was such a banal defensive technique, but most certainly it was Sally-Ann's, so Pansy felt the stirrings of relief.

"Well then, how do you know it was the Dark Lord?" she said, quickly and brutally. "The Aurors were there too, weren't they? You know they'd have been there in a flash once they got word of what was happening. Maybe...maybe Cameron just didn't get away in time." And of course, they hadn't cared that he was barely out of school, and had thought nothing of firing extremely dangerous curses and still calling themselves "the good guys".

Sally-Ann briefly scratched her cheek, which was mercifully dry. "Yes," she said quietly. "Yes, Pansy...Tracey...you're absolutely right. Of course, it had to have been the Aurors." Conviction grew in her voice and Pansy was satisfied, and Tracey crawled onto Millicent's bed next to Sally-Ann and reassured her that the Dark Lord would exact vengeance and get the "good guys" back and save them all. She also petted Sally-Ann's hair and told her she liked the haircut, even though she had called it unbecoming at the end of the last term; Sally-Ann had laughed then, and she laughed now.

Pansy wondered if maybe Tracey was jealous too, but Tracey would probably only be jealous of Sally-Ann's pure nerve; because she had long auburn hair and dancing blue eyes and Pansy's faint jealousy, too, and she was always very, very mindful of etiquette. Unless she didn't feel like it.

"I still want to talk to Professor Snape about it," said Sally-Ann, fingering the clipping once more.

Pansy lifted her chin and tossed her hair. "Someone get that away from her," she ordered, and Daphne obediently plucked it out of Sally-Ann's hand, crumpled it, and threw it out.

"I'd rather listen to Draco," said Pansy in an even quieter tone than that which Sally-Ann had used, crawling beneath her bed-sheets.

The other girls were torn, and there was more terrible silence until Daphne cleared her throat and said that she had promised to meet someone in the common room to prepare for classes the next day. She left the room, either oblivious or very well aware that she was in her very short nightgown.

Tracey handed her the stack of Slytherin timetables that she had "forgotten" to pick up from Snape's office, and left Pansy with fingernails biting into her palms to go deliver Draco's set of timetables, and Pansy realized with a scowl that she was surrounded by shameless vamps.

Tracey had offered to take Draco's wand to him while she was at it, but Draco never let anyone touch his wand except her, and he might have killed something or pitched a Really Big Fit, so Pansy smugly told her not to worry about it.

Sally-Ann jumped from Millie's bed to her own, and smiled discreetly as she burrowed under her blanket. Millicent shoved Illusion and her guitar to the side of the bed before doing the same, and Pansy plunged the room into darkness with a wave of her wand.

*

But a mere four hours later, she was wide-awake and staring into the shadowy night, very annoyed with herself. It was one in the morning, and while she had no qualms about inflicting her vindictive and sleep-deprived self on others every other day of the year, doing so on the first day seemed a bit over the top.

She finally gave up nearly half an hour later, and decided they'd just have to live with it. Pulling herself from her bed, she methodically yanked her already tangled morning hair into a makeshift ponytail as she padded out of the room, Millicent's snores following her into the even darker hallway.

The stone floors of the dungeon corridors were freezing and familiar beneath her bare feet. She approached the common room, not expecting anyone to be there, since it was the night before classes began, and no one in Slytherin stayed up on those nights.

But she still heard voices, more specifically, Blaise's sardonic drawl.

"...don't see why it's such a big deal."

She turned the corner and peered into the common room in time to see Draco's fuming glare in Blaise's direction as he stalked around the icily elegant common room, obviously in yet another snit; she had never realized they could spring up this late at night. "It's such a big deal because Potter's clearly acting like a bigheaded arse and showing that he thinks he's above everyone here along with the rules, and you don't even care! Is this the way things usually are around here? That's it, I'm transferring to Hufflepuff!"

"Of course I care, and you're being absurd," Blaise replied tiredly. "It isn't fair, and Potter's always been the one to lose us the most House points. He's a wanker and the main stain on Slytherin... but it's been five years, there's very little we can do about it now, and frankly, the way you're being about him today is slightly unnerving." Pansy could see the eyes narrow, scrutinizing, on Draco from where she was standing, and chose that moment to slip into the common room.

"What's going on?"

Draco whirled on her. "It's way past curfew and Potter hasn't even come back to the dungeons yet; probably off carting around another dragon." He snorted, his eyes glowing as brightly as his hair in the dimness of the room. "He can do that in Gryffindor, but this is my damn House. He's not getting away with this."

Blaise stared for a moment, perplexed, before sighing and flicking dark hair away from his face. "Well, since I'm sane and couldn't care less about what Potter gets up to at night, I'm going to bed. Look Pansy, you can stay up with your boy toy until whenever he decides to call it a night."

The pillow hurled by Draco hit him in the head, a split second before the one flung by Pansy got him in the chest. He shook off both pillows and was very put out. "I do not have to stand here and take this," he said.

Draco collapsed back against the couch with a sigh. "Just go to bed," he muttered, still managing to sound imperious.

Blaise nodded. "Thank you." A minute pause. "And...yeah, about that other thing," here he glanced at Pansy cautiously before turning back to the blond, "well, it's what's expected of all of us, isn't it?" His voice was actually, inexplicably uncertain, and Pansy narrowed her eyes.

"Of course," replied Draco.

"Of course." The two boys shared a smirk, and Pansy thought Blaise's might have been a little half-hearted, before the other boy mock-saluted her, turned and made his way up the staircase leading to the boys' dorms.

"I'm nobody's 'boy toy'," came Draco's voice through the dark, almost threateningly.

"I know." And she curled up next to him on the couch. "But you'd be a very pretty one."

He ignored her entirely. "It's probably Snape who condones this behaviour," he muttered, staring mutinously at the portrait of the druidess Cliodna, the sentinel who guarded the Slytherin commons.

"That's making quite an assumption, Draco," she ventured softly.

"He used to do it for me."

She didn't know whether to scoff and deride, or stroke his hair as she had done the past summer. She settled for a mix, because she wasn't quite daring enough to try either.

"You can't seriously think Potter is Snape's new teacher's pet," she told him, her fingers absently trailing up and down his arm, only because she was already leaning against it. "Really, what has he got to offer? It's only because of Longbottom that he's not at the bottom of our class in Potions."

Draco's mouth twitched in an impish smile. "From what we know; but he's made it into the Advanced Potions class. Blaise told me."

"Must be from all those Remedial Potions lessons."

Draco suddenly flung another pillow, with much more fierceness than before. It hit the arm of a stiff-backed armchair on the other side of the room before tumbling to the ground. "I don't know why I'm at all surprised," he said, his voice jagged. "'Remedial Potions' - remember I told you not to tell anyone else because Snape made me swear not to tell?"

"Yes...didn't you tell Gregory and Vincent?"

He shook his head. "They would have let it slip. But why would Snape have cared? He's always enjoyed seeing Potter fall from his pedestal just as much as we do. Remember the Witch Weekly article he read out in class?"

Pansy was unable to stop her giggles for some time. That day remained one of her fondest memories.

"Yeah," Draco went on, coughing in a very poor attempt to keep from falling into the same hysteria she had. "He shouldn't care. I should've seen it coming; it probably wasn't even Remedial Potions that Snape was doing with him...probably more secret meetings with Dumbledore." She wanted to laugh at the jealousy plain in his voice, because it seemed so unnecessary. It was one thing for Professor Snape to start liking Potter; for Potter to replace Draco was illogical. But she didn't dare laugh.

"What was Blaise talking about before?" she asked instead. "All that stuff of 'what's expected of us'?"

"My father talked to the Dark Lord this summer. He wants me to join him." It was all said so matter-of-factly, and there was no reason for it not to have been.

But Cameron Perks' story was running around in her mind again and making her chew on the inside of her cheek, slightly unnerved, and Draco was only sixteen. A sixteen year old who still resorted to insults he had made in the fourth year.

Draco laughed sharply, catching sight of her expression, and making her even more aware of his childish age. "After I've finished school, of course," he said. "Obviously. Father says that right now, we should just sit and let the Dark Lord handle everything, and we'll all be safe soon." An unexplained pause, and she realized that she didn't know what he was thinking. "I guess Blaise's father heard about it from Vince's mother. They're always talking. I think Vincent got asked too, but I haven't talked to him about it yet."

"Yeah," she murmured.

Draco watched her through narrowed eyes before going on, his tone infused with sudden confidence, which was always there to fall back on. "Of course it's what is expected of us. Someone has to stand up for the old views; someone has to keep the Mudbloods away, because they're infesting and dirtying our world, they're practically taking over and they're leading the Muggles right to us; the Muggles will destroy everything completely. Destroy us. Again." It could have been Lucius Malfoy talking.

"Muggles are scum," Pansy whispered fervently and believed it with every inch of herself.

"And for all the wizards ready to make such pretty speeches, the Dark Lord is the only one to walk his own talk, and then they all get mad and run to Dumbledore so he can beat them into submission and tell them lies he thinks they need to hear."

"Some wizards are so thick; they'll believe anything."

Draco smirked. "Only Dumbledore and his lackeys. Naturally Potter. Who, by the way, has already lured Snape over to the losing side so he can become another one of Dumbledore's pawns in this stupid ideal of his that'll get us all killed...Snape was smart, too...but I'm not going to be beaten into submission."

There was defiance and rage and maybe fear and a whispered promise, all implied so very quietly. Pansy nodded, and nodded again, because Draco knew these things, but she didn't want him frightened.

"And especially with traitors in our midst--"

Pansy winced. "Professor Snape isn't a traitor." It came out before she could even think of it, simply because she still couldn't imagine placing the word on her favourite professor. But of course, if someone betrayed another, that someone was a traitor.

It was such obvious logic that Draco only looked at her sneeringly for a moment, and why couldn't she be as remorseless and detached as him? It should have rubbed off at the very least; they had known each other forever.

But nothing more was said, and Pansy was unsure of how many hours rolled by as they sat together in the common room. It wasn't long before Draco was coiled up and leaning against her, his shoulder digging sharply into her back. All of the joints of his body seemed to be just as sharp and angular as his face.

He was falling asleep, she could hear it; therefore, Potter was the luckiest prat alive, since he would obviously miss out on Draco's tirade, and she had new ammunition against him when he woke up the next morning. Which was also lucky, since she had lost the edge of being at least three inches taller than him last year - it had shortened to one inch, and she missed the boy who had once been so small compared to her.

Still, she was the second tallest girl in the sixth year, surpassed only by Millicent.

The silence was broken by a series of soft thumps. Pansy's eyes opened and blinked away sleep as she stiffened briefly, her gaze shooting over to the portrait in time to see Cliodna wink at her before vanishing from view. She heard the distant sliding of a stone door, and knew that only one person might have been sneaking in at...she didn't even know what time it was anymore. She didn't remember when she had fallen asleep.

The prodigal son returns. Pansy sneered and was very annoyed.

Draco was stirring in time to hear the clatter of recognizably clumsy footsteps come through the portrait hole. It was remarkable how fast he shook off any vestiges of sleep and clenched his hand around a third pillow. Pansy was fleetingly relieved that she had yet to give him back his wand.

Potter's impossibly unruly hair had barely made it into the common room before Draco's sharp hiss cracked through the quiet. "You."

Potter jumped the smallest bit. Eyes that remained vividly green, despite the lack of light, flew to Draco and Pansy before they flashed.

Potter's lips pulled back in a snarl. "Malfoy?! What the hell are you doing up?"

Draco was getting to his feet, a sneer already all over his features, pallid in the darkness. "Potter, please tell me you didn't just ask that question. You have absolutely no right to."

Potter's mouth opened as though he were about to retort, before something seemed to occur to him, and he closed it, eyes widening before narrowing. "Oh. Oh for Merlin's sake, this is about me, isn't it?"

Draco gritted his teeth. "This may surprise you, Potter, but it isn't. This is about Slytherin, and the points you're about to lose from it."

Potter watched him in detached amusement. "How? Are you going to take them?" His eyes widened almost dramatically.

Pansy stiffened in preparation; Draco was very clearly irate, she could tell this with a mere glance. Draco said and did silly things when irate around Potter.

"Where were you?" Draco demanded.

"I'm not about to tell you, Malfoy, so if that's all you stayed up waiting to ask, you wasted your time. You do that a lot." Potter paused and Pansy saw his irrepressible nosiness again. "Why are you suddenly interested, anyway? Why would you stay up?"

Draco looked down his nose at the other boy; it was only when he did this that Pansy was drawn to the realization that Draco was actually a shade taller than Potter after all; all these years she had been teasing him for growing in perfect sync with Potter.

"I'll tell you that when you tell me why the sodding hell you're in Slytherin," his eyes, gleaming with disdain, looked the former Boy Who Lived up and down, "when you're so perfectly Gryffindor."

An odd expression crossed Potter's face, and Pansy noticed that his fists were clenched. She took an involuntary step forward, unwelcome memories coming back - of Potter's horribly exaggerated response to Draco being himself during last year's Quidditch match.

"Say another word and I'll hex you again, Malfoy, I don't care if you have to cower behind Snape's robes yet again. Tell me why you're suddenly so bloody interested in what I'm doing! What happened this summer?"

The pillow Draco had been clutching finally flew - Potter ducked and it sailed over his head.

"Tell me what you're doing with Dumbledore and Snape!" Draco countered.

Potter actually gasped, before covering his mouth and glaring heatedly again. "You first!"

"You first!"

Oh. Dear. Bloody. Merlin. Pansy would have greatly preferred to kick them both in the most sensitive portions of their anatomy, but settled for just leaping to her feet and screaming. She might have woken up half of Slytherin, but at least Potter and Draco both shut up to stare wide-eyed at her.

"Merlin, listen to the two of you," she hissed, striding up to the both of them. "You'd think you'd landed smack into the middle of the Spanish Inquisition. Grow. Up! Potter, stop being such a bloody stuck-up ARSEHOLE, and ten points from Slytherin! You can tell everyone that you're the one who put us in the minuses. And Draco, Pomfrey was so right; I think you sounded more mature in third year."

Silence echoed rather loudly for a moment before Potter sneered, clearly irritated. "Malfoy, keep your harpy on her leash, I do not have the time for this."

He had nerve, after all. Pansy saw red, and it was only when Draco hauled her back with a firm grip on her wrist that she noticed she had lunged at Potter, who appeared to be extremely shocked.

"Draco, let go--"

"You promised," he whispered in her ear. "I would get Potter, you'd watch from the sidelines?" He sounded genuinely huffy, and was somehow making her feel as if she had greatly wronged him; so she took several deep breaths and backed off, glowering venomously at Potter.

Potter took a backward step of his own toward the staircase of the boys' dorms, his eyes moving from Draco to Pansy and back, and then back to her once more. "I...really don't know what's going on with you this year," he said carefully, as though talking to something either very slow, or untamed. Pansy badly wanted to point out the irony. "And I don't have the time for it; but something definitely happened, and I'm going to find out."

Draco was about an inch away from Potter with three brisk strides and he glared as Potter drew back with disgust, before his eyes narrowed in amusement. "Have fun then, Potter. I know I will, making you suffer and watching every step of the way."

Potter opened her mouth to reply, before closing it and shaking his head and making it very obvious he didn't feel the effort was worth it. He turned to go up the boys' staircase, before pausing to look over his shoulder. "Cute password, by the way." But he was laughing, which was so not right, and he disappeared up the steps.